Saleem took a few small steps away from the building. Still nothing happened. With a rush of adrenaline, he broke into a run. He could escape. Saleem ran down the quiet streets and ducked behind some buildings. He did not know where he was or where he was going, but he knew he wanted to get away from the police station before they changed their minds.
Saleem panted heavily with his hands on his knees. His mouth was dry and gritty as he tried to spit out the dust that coated his tongue. His stomach reeled and he spewed bile against the wall. A pain shot through his left side. He breathed deeply and waited for it to pass.
There were no footsteps behind him, no sound of running officers in pursuit. They were not looking for him, but they’d been clear that they should not find him. Saleem needed to leave this town as soon as possible. He had some money. Could he get back to Greece without a passport or any travel documents?
What should I do? Madar-jan, please tell me what I should do!
He tried to calm himself. He could feel his thoughts spinning wider and wider away from him.
Focus. Think. You can do this.
Saleem quieted his own thoughts. As the chaos in his mind relented, he heard his mother’s voice.
Find a safe place. Find food. Get back to Greece.
Saleem looked around him. There were no shops or stands. No people to approach. He was like one of the boys in Attiki now. He had stepped out of his story and into theirs, away from the privilege of a passport and family. He had no jewelry to sell and only the bills he’d kept hidden to help him get through. The journeys he’d heard of in Attiki, the survivors he’d met, haunted him.
His head began to uncloud. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
I must look like hell.
Saleem wound his way through the streets, looking for a busier area and the things he would need: food, shelter, and a way to get back to Intikal.
Intikal was the only place he could think to go. In Intikal, he could turn to Hakan and Hayal for help finding his mother. The thought of being in their home again brought him comfort.
Food was easy enough to find since he was desperate and tired enough to pay for it. He would need strength to continue. The shop owner frowned in disgust but accepted the sweaty euros he had pulled from his sock.
Toasted sesame bread, the cheapest food he could find, calmed his angry stomach. It was afternoon. Saleem could feel eyes boring into him and imagined fingers pointing his way. A thousand tiny drums in his head begged him to sleep.
Saleem found a public restroom and did his best to wash the filth off his face. He rinsed his body with water he cupped in both hands. He moved his left arm slowly, his side aching.
The boys in Attiki had talked about their journey into Greece. Some had taken small boats run by smugglers. Other had snuck onto trucks that were loaded onto ferries. Both ways were dangerous. Everyone had stories of people perishing in the waters or dying in the undercarriages of freight trucks. Saleem did not know where he would even find a smuggler now. It was best to make the long trip back to Intikal, regroup, and come up with a solid plan.
It was a painful choice but Saleem walked out of the restroom with halfhearted resolve. He asked around and found his way to the bus station. In six hours, a bus would leave for Intikal. He bought a ticket and waited.
SALEEM FELL ASLEEP TO THE LOW RUMBLE OF THE BUS’S ENGINE. AT least between here and Intikal there would be no more checkpoints, no police officers. And at least in this country Saleem could hold an intelligible conversation. His head bobbed against the stiff headrest with every dip in the road. He dreamed he was on the bus but with Madar-jan, Samira, and Aziz in the next seats. They were going to Intikal together, a bag of jewelry and personal belongings stored under their seats.
THE TRIP WAS LONGER THAN HE RECALLED, BUT INTIKAL LOOKED unchanged and welcoming. Saleem saw the mosque where he had approached Hakan on that first day. It was a good feeling.
He passed the shop where he and Kamal had pilfered cigarettes and candies for sport. The shop owner’s back was to the window as he stocked his shelves with boxes of cookies. Saleem stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and kept walking.
It was early evening. From a distance, Saleem could see a light on at Hakan and Hayal’s house. He could have run to their door and collapsed on their front porch, but he was wary of alarming them. He took slow deliberate steps, thinking of what he was going to say. His breathing quickened. His fingers trembled as he knocked on the door.
Hakan answered. His eyes bulged to see a boy he barely recognized.
“Saleem!”
“Mr. Yilmaz. .” Saleem began. “I have nowhere else to go. .”
“Come in, come in!” Hakan craned his neck into the street. “What about. .?”
“They are not with me,” Saleem said plainly.
Hakan pursed his lips and led Saleem into the kitchen. He called out for Hayal, who looked even more startled to see Saleem. She threw her arms around him. Saleem’s eyes closed. It felt good to be in their warmth but he felt so filthy, he nearly pulled away for her sake. She set off to make some hot tea and warm up some food. Hakan and Saleem sat at the kitchen table.
“Where is your dear mother? And your siblings? Are they all right?”
“I don’t know. I think they are okay, but I do not know. Maybe they take the train or maybe they wait for me in Greece, but I don’t know how to get back there.”
His responses were choppy and puzzling. Saleem sounded as frayed as he felt. Hakan and Hayal exchanged looks of concern.
“Eat something, dear boy. You look like nothing has passed your lips in days!” Hayal mothered him while Hakan tried to understand what had happened after the family left Intikal.
“You took the ferry to Athens — all of you? Where did you stay?”
Saleem was too exhausted to filter how much he shared with them. He told them about the first hotel and then the Afghans he had met in Attiki Square. He told them about their decision to leave the hotel and save their euros for their travels and the brisk nights they’d spent in the playground.
Hayal cringed to hear him talk about Fereiba and the younger children sleeping in the cold rain. Saleem went on. He talked about the Yellow Hotel and the train tickets they had purchased. Then he got to the pawnshop and the police. His voice began to choke. Hayal put a hand over his. The police station in Greece. The police station in Turkey and then the only place he could think to come to, the Yilmaz home in Intikal. Odd how in this moment, Hakan and Hayal felt more like family than any of his aunts or uncles. If Madar-jan knew he was with them, it would bring her so much comfort.
Hakan leaned back in his chair. As parents, they’d had the same thought. The only possibility was to reach the Yellow Hotel, but Saleem did not have the phone number.
“Maybe we can find the number but we will need a computer,” Hakan said.
“A computer? Kamal’s family! They have a computer!”
“Saleem, Kamal’s family moved away after that wedding. They are gone. But I have another friend nearby who may be able to help. I’ll go to his house and see if he can help find something. But first, tell me everything you remember about this hotel.”
Saleem wrote out the hotel’s name and the cross streets as best as he could remember. While Hakan left to search out the number, Hayal prepared a much needed bath for Saleem.
Warm water relaxed his neck but not his mind. He could not stay here forever. He had to get back to Greece.